


Wasteland, Baby!

by pandemnium



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, Dialogue Heavy, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Post-Canon, Purgatory, Relationship Issues, Self-Acceptance, Self-Doubt, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Burn, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22596901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandemnium/pseuds/pandemnium
Summary: SHOW-VERSE  ╱   "Wasteland, baby;   I'm in love with you."   He only knows peace when he is with her.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont & Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. Pandemonium

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by books I've read about death and the aftermath of it.

**_Wasteland, Baby!_ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

“Wasteland, baby. I’m in love with you. And I love too that love soon might end and be known in its aching, shown in this shaking. Lately of my wasteland, baby; be still, my indelible friend.”

.

.

Setting in the aftermath of **_season eight episode three_ ** and **_season eight episode five_ **with pre-established friendship and relationship. ShowVerse; everyone is an adult, therefore no one is underage. 

May include some heavy, adult themes such as deaths, consensual sexual intercourse etc. 

This is a **_Jorah/Dany_ ** story hence the endgame is Jorah/Dany. _Jon/Dany_ may appear a bit for the sake of storyline however I can assure you that the Jon’s parts are vague and short as I make it to be. A _slowburn, acceptance_ Jorah/Dany relationship.

English isn’t my first language thus please forgive some of my grammar mistakes here and there

.

.

Written by **_pandemnium_ **

.

.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


_Daenerys Stormborn,_ those two syllables sent a gratifying contentment to Jorah Mormont upon his quick passing as he heard himself chanting _her_ name within his pristine mind as if it was his last _articulation_ to the world before darkness engulfed him, murks succumbing his mortal figure; embracing him as if he was an old friend that has traveled such a long way with only wisdom he carries after yielding from demise numerous occasions, however he hasn’t make an amendment to death just yet.

Jorah Mormont has always been a cynic regarding the _finality;_ he was a convoluted man who led so many lives, his belief was fickle because of his experiences throughout his venture and it had taught him that you’ve always been alone, and you will face its _finality_ alone. Such a melancholy concept for such a romantic man, however he could say his philosophy was right. His nirvana still walks among people on the earth.

His last memory regarding his momentous summit of his life was the warmth of her delicate palms on his visage, cradling him to see her for the last time. Oh, how she had granted his ultimate desire to fixate those weary eyes upon hers; an echo that he shall bear to the _aftermath_ , with the lingering lines of her beauty and tender heart implanted within his mind. She has always been beautiful since the first time he had ever laid his eyes upon her, and there was one thing that always complimented her beauty; crimson shade that has always been her colour. It matches her enchanting silver tresses flowing upon her shoulders and the peculiar yet tender amethyst irises. She had always looked so serene in crimson, covered by his crimson blood she did try to smile. Her rare beam was a foreign sight to witness, however a treasure he shall keep upon this everlasting deafening silence and blindness. It soothes his perplexed mind, jabbering to his rational mind when he had realized that he had reached its pinnacle of existence.

He was certain that he didn’t say _her_ name when he was almost lifeless as every essence of him was dispersing from his faded brims; trying to catch his breath using his mouth that has been clogged by his own blood, each intake were replaced by outtakes of _I love you_ ’s. A promise, an old oath he has taken, always serving her and _those words_ were his last selfless act; for he labouring the woman he loved with a promise of perpetual fealty, for those words were tended to comfort her because he didn't blame her for his own demise, for those words shall become a reminder that someone had loved her and he shall take those words to his grave, for his love is a reminder of her impending sacrifice in later life.

Despite the unknown aftermath of his inevitable demise, he will always love her, in so many forms; in so many realities and eternities that stretched unto countless waves caressing its surface and leaving foams above it. It should calm her, it should soothe her, as it did pacify his fear, an acceptance that he has passed.

He didn’t know whether his eyes were closed or opened; for darkness surrounded him and there was no difference whether his physique is flying or still; he couldn’t differentiate whether he is still yet _alive_ or has died, there’s no concrete answer of the legion questions capitulating the insufferable ending. He should’ve felt at ease but he didn’t. He should’ve known that he was at peace because he knew the woman he loved was still alive and breathing, protected by his frigid arm wrapped around her waist as he tried to make a _final_ closure however this sporadic silence suffocated him. There was no concept of time, there was no concept of existence and he waited, to make peace with his new surroundings he shall consume for the rest of infinity.

Tantalizingly, the memories of his lifetime have started to fade away to vastness just like his very existence has diminished to particules; to be a stardust upon the open wide sky and he could only accept his fate. At last, he didn’t feel hurt, he didn’t feel anything and it terrifies him the most. The lingering memories of her have started to disappear and he couldn’t do anything, for he has no voice to scream; to demand his love back, for there was no one he could confront to battle, there was nothing and he didn’t feel at paradise. This is a pandemonium, to slowly vanish without anything to hold on to. Even his abstract affection for her; he couldn’t grasp into it.

One last time, one final. There was no sweeter innocence than loving.

  
  


* * *

  
  


There have always been some debates regarding the _aftermath._ Those who had believed upon the Old Gods certainly have accepted every creature that has walked upon the earth shall return to the forest, to the ground; to where they came from, joining in with their ancestors and their lost kin that have died beyond generations. Each stream, each river, each air hauled spirits and they abide by this unconcrete law, for this old religion is so abstract yet has a fidelity concept of death.

Jorah Mormont was one of those people who supposedly believed that concept because he was a Northman, a predecessor of First Men and practiced worship in front of Weirwood trees. However he has debunked this belief upon such theoretical God, when he had witnessed miracles that were created by _Daenerys Stormborn;_ simultaneously fulfilled his yearning to worship something, _someone_ who deserves such unbinding reverence. Nevertheless that she is also a mortal, however no mortal could birthed mythical creatures and rose from fire as if she had risen from the inevitable death. 

However she had never given sermons regarding death, about afterlife. She also had no clues about that, ever since she had never thought of it because her sole purpose was to conquer; as long as she lives, it’s about re-claiming what has been stolen from her. She never paid attention to it, despite deaths that have surrounded her from the beginning of her life, ever since she breathed and took her mother’s life.

Death should be a frightful thing, but she had never remorse upon it, so did he. He had seen people die in front of her; those she had loved, those she cherished and she had never wallowed in sorrow. A silence yet disturbing acceptance from her was beyond comprehension for him. Probably because he had never seen those he had cherished died in front of him, therefore he imagined the reaction he should have and he could’ve thought _that_ how people supposed to be; stoic and silent, shrieking in their minds but calm magnitude demeanor.

And that’s how he responded to such peculiar vastness; seeing an implausible scenery of serenity laced within his optics. Such a lively paradise, startling colours registered to his vision. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust his eyesight to anomalous aftermath. It looked like a place where humans come from, to a place he used to know; where someone used to live. Unruly screech perturbed him, as if it was an anguish scream of a dragon in distant echoing throughout the air. Although he didn’t see anything besides an unreachable atmosphere, sun peeking behind mountains, trees swindled as if they produce air to breath when he didn’t feel anything within his body. He was disoriented, fell upon his knees as he was trying to register everything.

Such an unexpected anomaly, he felt alive yet he didn’t feel that he was breathing. He remembered his existence yet again, however his existence has ended. Those memories of his lifetime penetrated his mind once again, an agony he couldn’t equivocate when he recalled his death. Plumed, pierced, pricked by thousands of invisible blades to his abdomen, back and chest. Anguish bawl resonated, this is perhaps _hell,_ he thought. Before he immediately felt at ease when palms inspecting his body; those scars he still beared however those were merely scars. Perhaps the excruciating feeling he felt was his anxiety, his apprehension to accept that he had earned _something_ in the aftermath. Rose from his knees, Jorah saunters to what’s beyond him.

There it was, a house with a big door in the midst of nature. Concrete walls appeased his desire to get accustomed, to hide away by the shield that had been provided in this purgatory, or whatever he may call it. 

**_Home,_ **he would name it.

For once he felt belonged somewhere, to a place he felt as if it was a consolation. 

Pushing through the door, the house was an apparent modesty of his personality. The inside was rather a traditional and mundane house he could ever wish. It immediately directed him to an immerse mattress located in the middle of the room; white sheets and pillows were tucked neatly upon it and his everyday essentials surrounded him. There was nothing extraordinary or jarring about his new home and it made him content.

  
  


It had been a long journey to reach peace; lived numerous lives, engaged upon the endless war of belief and fantasy, loving someone he could never have. It had been a long journey, and he was exhausted. Jorah Mormont eventually felt himself that he was in paradise, accepting his fate to spend an eternity alone with everything that has been provided for him; whoever had given to him, and it did feel at exile. However, he wasn’t running any more, he had accepted his fate. Jumping upon the mattress, his wary body relaxed upon the feathery mattress and he felt sleepy. He closed his eyes, once more and there’s tranquility within his mind. **_At last._ **

* * *

He dreamt yet again. Dreams seem to exist in this place, and his perpetual mind had dreamt about Daenerys Stormborn numerous times. Alas, those dreams weren’t about his last memory as he demised, nor his betrayal, nor the cherished memories he once had when they were in the dessert.

It had always been a blurry image of her face and body, her fingertips caressing his facade from forehead to chin; drawing a shapeless pattern upon calloused face and she would sing him a lullaby to lure him to deeper sleep. As if his mind had projected the domestic dreams he wished he could have had in the previous life; when Khal Drogo had died, and they weren’t chasing for the insufferable throne that had plagued their ambitions to reach the cursed. The deeper he would sleep, the intensity of her image would suffocate him. Jorah Mormont would feel Daenerys Stormborn’s body against her; following the burning desire he had carved for years in his solace.

However, it wouldn’t ever last as he would’ve expected; as he would wake up from his dreams with a startling jolt, an electricity to his body as he was yearning for her phantom. Self-deprecating, even in his _wasteland,_ he felt guilty for dreaming such things. Worshipping her alluring psychique in his hallucination, using her body for his own satisfaction to reach its peak. Cursing himself innumerable times, he couldn’t have remembered how many times he had fallen asleep because his surroundings have always been the same; a remote solace with heavenly scenery. Tossed and turned, he settled once again and closed his eyes again. Perhaps it was the last, **_perhaps._ **

  
  


* * *

Often the telltales have spoken that the dreams are fragments of something that could happen in the future. However in this case, Jorah Mormont wished that folly wouldn’t come true so soon because if those dreams are about to be real; each intensity and real as it becomes, that means _Daenerys Stormborn_ would’ve been dead and join him in the everlasting _wasteland._ A concept he doesn’t anticipate because he had known that his love hadn’t lived a long life; she was a mere young woman who had rejoiced from her supposed demise and birthed dragons, a lady who had freed people and became their mother; the promised Queen that shall reign for thousands years in Seven Kingdoms; someone who aren’t supposed to be dead just yet. 

However, who he was but a mere common who doesn’t know when the time might’ve come upon him or anyone who he had cherished. Deaths may have come knocking upon his door numerous times in the past however it was an _almost_ but never had been an _end._ And he was certain that death had arrived; he spent the last time with someone he had loved by defending her. And if Daenerys Stormborn would be dead so soon after his demise, despite time does not exist in his dimension; he would’ve known that the Gods had played their own _Game of Thrones_ upon her. 

To ignore his perennial distress by thinking of Daenerys’ life and security in the other place, he had continued his life as if he was once again alive. He had settled a routine; by the time dawn had approached upon the mountain, he would chased some chickens for their eggs and milking the cows that appeared in his lawn, upon in the afternoon he would eat and lay down upon the ductile grass and inhaling its aroma before falling asleep and waking up with the sun has come down and the stars and moon have shining upon him; as if those things were meant for him only to enjoy. Days may have passed, if it does exist by counting the moon have disappeared in the horizon and appears yet again once the night beckoned; he had counted it had been four moons passed, four months if he relates it to the earth but _does it the same?_

Five moons, he counted the last time he was awakened upon the exquisite vastness above him. Things haven’t changed again, surprisingly. Perhaps later in the morning something would be added to his universe by anyone that controls the universe he currently lives in. He wasn’t alone, he does count his farm and his new fondly dog as his companions and he still feels _content_ because after those five moons, Daenerys Stormborn hadn’t arrived just yet. She was still alive, and for that; he was grateful.

Jorah Mormont whistled to his new dog, Gryves to follow him to the house they lived in. The dog came from the woods and barked at his owner with such anticipation. Small dog with brown hair, it reminded him of Bear in his _home_ and creatively, he named it as _Bear_ in Valyrian; the language of love, the one she could speak and he would understand, a little. Jorah petted the dog before they walked to their home, in another hill behind it; it stood his home he had decorated with flowers and trees. Each day, something would appear whenever he dreams about it the previous day as if it follows his dream. And he wished, whoever does it to him does not follow his wish to _have_ Daenerys with him, just yet.

“You hungry, boy ?” He asked, but the creature couldn’t respond but to bark. His sole companion he could _converse_ with in this place. The dog started to run, leaving Jorah behind as he was trying to catch up with it, he laughed freely when the dog had stumbled and yet again petting its stomach before carrying it in his arms; perhaps Gryves was exhausted and hungry, because he had been gone for quite some time and he hadn’t fed him just yet. Each step feels like eternity, but he wouldn’t realize that he had reached its destination; his home with flowers on the terrace, trees surrounding it and a big _red_ door in front of it. Gryves jumped away from his embrace and scooted away to his little home he had created in front of the flowers, getting settled there whilst Jorah just stared at it blankly because the dog usually would sleep with him in the bed. Brushed it off as if it was nothing, he retrieved its bowl and would fill it with meat he had cooked in the morning.

When the knob turned, and he stepped inside; it felt more peculiar yet welcoming than usual. As if it radiates warmth he longed to have without fire smearing upon the woods on the fireplace. His watchful eyes were expectant because it was his territory, he should’ve felt invaded however he felt calm. Inspecting the premises for its oddity may occur to him, he didn’t find anything that could be described agitating or plundering his tranquility however, when he fixated his eyes upon the mattress, it was occupied by something, by _someone_ underneath the cover. A guard as he had always been in those days that have gone, Jorah silently ambled beside the mattress and sat upon it, bracing himself to ambush the invader of his own isolation with a bowl on his hands and the strength he had gained by doing laborious work in lawn. 

Long digits scrumming to the fabric and instantly revealing _someone_ beneath it; which was something _worse_ than he had expected. The occuring dreams he had wished would never come true _just yet_ . The breath of fresh new air, the divine divinity that outlast anything beauteous in this wasteland. Forthwithly, he feels alive again, as if his soul had found its ambiance, finally. How many _finality_ before he reached upon the eternal peace? Perhaps this. His lungs were full of the new air he inhales deliberately, the ones he exhaled of _I love you’s;_ eyes had never closed but were wide open as he stared upon her as if he would never let her go until she was safe and mouth was agape, without crimson blood adorned his faded lips; a silent utter of admiration, _the_ last word he had thought before passing to his eventual eternity, _her_ name.

“ _Daenerys._ ” 

A beat.

His heart had beat again.

For it had always beats for her. And it does beat for her again. Forever and eternity.

She makes him feel so alive and _human._

Not some particles or essences or stardust upon the sky or an exile in isolation,

_Human._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this as I have five/six ideas in the mind, but each ideas are stand-alone/different stories so I'll try to update this regularly as I try to write other ideas so I'll probably write ... six stories ... unless new ideas come again so expect me to stick around in the fandom more! And very nice to meet with all of you, whoever read this story! 
> 
> ALSO, I may need a Beta for my stories,, so if you do want to be my beta; please inform me :)!


	2. Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His heart was beating again for her. As it always has been, for she makes him feel so alive and human. And he makes her feel so alive and loved and worshiped like a Goddess.

**_Wasteland, Baby!_ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

“Wasteland, baby. I’m in love with you. And I love too that love soon might end and be known in its aching, shown in this shaking. Lately of my wasteland, baby; be still, my indelible friend.”

.

.

Setting in the aftermath of **_season eight episode three_ ** and **_season eight episode five_ **with pre-established friendship and relationship. ShowVerse; everyone is an adult, therefore no one is underage. 

May include some heavy, adult themes such as deaths, consensual sexual intercourse etc. 

This is a **_Jorah/Dany_ ** story hence the endgame is Jorah/Dany. _Jon/Dany_ may appear a bit for the sake of storyline however I can assure you that Jon's parts are vague and short as I make it to be. A _slowburn, acceptance_ Jorah/Dany relationship.

English isn’t my first language thus please forgive some of my grammar mistakes here and there

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.

Written by **_pandemnium_ **

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.

  
  


_We break the wheel together,_ those five syllables sent a gratifying glory and contentment to Daenerys Stormborn because _finally,_ she had found someone who was worthy enough to stand beside her as an equal in her cause, another benign ruler that was destined to break the wheel their ancestors have created, for a Targaryen is equal to another Targaryen. It has been a justified tradition that has rooted for centuries, and she had expected that she and him would end the atrocious systematic aristocracy their ancestors have built; for the targaryen would begin the wheel, and they would end the reign _by fire and blood_. 

The Gods have always flipped a coin upon the Targaryen. It is a prophet that seems to be an inevitable augury. History has seen the madness they've elicited within their reign, or their transitory amiable reign. Either one of the Targaryen would become _mad_ or _cordial_ ; it is an inevitable omen.

Some people may have said that Daenerys Stormborn is the inevitable omen, because she was the daughter of _mad_ fire, who was born in the stormy day; as if the Gods were fighting for her fate to be born alive or dead. And the Gods have always demand for a sacrificial lamb to justify their _messiah_ , and there were countless sacrificial lambs given in their incredulous way; for the Mad King had been slayed, the innocent relatives who were also bounded by the rules of the world as spouse and children of the supposed _benign_ ruler were killed, an audacious conquer against her kin, murdered the supposed serene king he ought to become, and the last connection of tranquility of humanity and the Targaryen; her _mother_ died because of her, the last sacrificial lamb that was given to make _Daenerys_ alive.

Only to be taken by the _diabolical_ flip of a coin the Gods have arranged for her. As if there was a vindicated switch within the mind of Daenerys Stormborn to demand such sacrifices from others to break the wheel. To abolish the system that had been preserved for centuries, she needed to eradicate the people within the system, the higher class and the _lower class_ ; to _break the wheel_.

It is a reasonable cause; had she let the people within the King's Landing live, they would create aspiring groups to rebel against her. They would try to revolt against her because she had created a significant change within the system, and people have always hated changes when they've grown used to the condition they have known for centuries, to the circumstance they were born into. People in the Essos have rejoice upon the conspicuous changes within the city, and yet, some of them have become desperate and forlorn and despondent; for they have never experienced such freedom and the concept of liberty had never been planted within, thus only create fears in some people and an eventual demise of _killing themselves,_ for they couldn't survive in the progressive change. 

She had known people wouldn't eventually adjust to such freedom, as they were bound to the life they once had and they've grown used to or _even like_ the resentment they have. She once was like that, grown used to the fiendish bliss she had mistaken it as _pure love_ from the man who used her body and sexually _driven_ her to think it is what they call as _love._

She had never known what true and pure love is, her brother had said it doesn't exist and their supposed marriage was a tradition, for a Targaryen should marry and _love_ their inbred. Her affection for Khal was merely a growing adoration because the _mundane_ activity she had received upon the night as he climbed her and drove her like a stallion, for she thought she should love her husband. Her admiration for the gallantry and wickedness from playful sexual banter with the man who had killed his commander was merely a _game_ and oh.. had she thought that _her affection_ for the bastard was pure love, the finality of her search. For she had found what the Queen should have, but not as a woman; the pure love has never existed for her as both queen and a woman. Or, she had never _truly looked._

Love shouldn't have been taking, but it should've been giving. Making a sacrifice, not demanding a sacrifice. 

And she had known what _true love_ is when she had her life evaporated from her body; as her soul witnessed how the man who supposed to _love_ her jabbed her with a heinous prick of a dagger upon her heart, her life essence dissipated from her agape mouth with bloodstain clogging her breathing, eyes were widened and loathed the last _vision_ of her last moment was the man that was supposed to love her, the man who was supposed to be her equal; the man she thought was _her true love._ This is not true love, this is nobility tarnished by dubious misconceptions, this is _hatred,_ for what she had become. She was making a sacrifice to break the wheel, and he was making a sacrifice to _save the wheel_.

Her defined life would be overshadowed by mere unjust reason to save the impending authority. The romanticized song of a _wolf_ saving the world from a dragon; how she feels disgusted, appalled, confused, and desolate in this perpetual darkness, because her life would be defined as another heroine falls for the irresolute fate of romanticism; a fool falling _for such a trick._ She loathed herself, she despised the man who was she thought her _love,_ she hated the overgrowing feeling of anxiety and fear because she couldn't feel anything in her body beside emotions; she couldn't tell if her eyes were closed or her body was floating in the air with her son, she doesn't feel anything but resentment, and anger for her downfall. 

She wasn't at peace, her demise wasn't a serene one because she died by the arms of the man who had loved her, and the state of her mind was a rageful anger and indignation because she believes she didn't deserve to die just yet, when she hadn't accomplished what she was meant to do and be, for she hasn't fulfilled the meaning of her life after numerous people have died for her just to make her still alive. She shouldn't have died, and Gods think it's a comedy, to create such a creature, only to be taken too soon because they've had enough. The Gods always play upon her fate, and _Daenerys Stormborn_ had grown tired of someone, _something_ justifying what she should do and be. She is not a coin to be flipped because of mere boredom, as if her mind was a switch from sane to insanity; she was a person, who just wanted to break the wheel and create _home_ in the process. And yet, the Gods have taken her personifications of home, and the only remaining had lived by appalling escape from his crime; because he had taken her life, as if it was meant to be. As if Daenerys was merely a plot device to his story, and this, made her sick in this perennial longevity of murk.

  
  


Her wrathful pique hadn't gone for what it seems to be centuries. The everlasting deafening silence and blindness agitated her, jabbering to her rational mind that there is no pinnacle of this existence; there’s no eventual outcome from this. There's no concerte answers of the never-ending questions and her vehemence upon her demise. The ending has always been insufferable, and she wished to speak up; to be heard; because she didn't want to spend her eternity in prolonged wrath and silence, it never sooth her; to know that she has died, and there's nothing afterwards. Although she had never truly believed in Gods; Old or New, she only believed in herself. Therefore Daenerys believed that she deserved much better than this … ridiculous finality the Gods have set her upon. There was no concept of time, of existence and she waited; to make peace with her fate and the surroundings she shall inhabit for the rest of infinity.

* * *

  
  
  


There have always been some heated debates regarding the aftermath. Those who had believed upon the seven gods have accepted that every creature that has walked upon the earth shall return to where they were coming from, to the darkness. It is an inexorable concept, since the religion was established by her ancestors, and they certainly didn’t know _what aftermath_ is when they preached it because they hadn’t died just yet, thus they wouldn’t know and concluded that everything would return to where they came from. Such a concrete religion that has an abstract concept of death.

Daenerys Stormborn was one of those people who supposedly believed upon the concept because she was a Southerner, and she was a predecessor of people who created such a religion. However, her old belief had contradicted with the religion her previous husband had introduced to her; because the Khals believed that they would return into another place with their kins, and yet, she debunked those beliefs upon the theoretical God because she _believed_ in herself. She had become a God, for those who needed a thing to worship upon because her miracles were real and grasping the reality, instead of the theoretical of such dubious concepts. People have called her as their God; for God should have liberated and helped people who needed it. Those other Gods have never directly help them, only to leave them to rot into slavery, and people would obviously give their unbinding reverence upon a God that would free them and birth mythical creatures and rose from fire as if she had risen from the inevitable demise.

Death should've been a frightful thing to encounter, however she had never been afraid of such abstract notion or wallowing upon it. Daenerys had seen people die in front of her; those she had loved, those she had despised, and those she had never known personally because thousands of people had died screaming her name in many languages; _Myhsa,_ the mother. Who was a brave young woman who wept for her children in silence because she knows, she should've died for them, for she's their mother, and not the opposite of it. Regardless of the oath they've taken or the belief they put on her; she should've protected them however she couldn't, she never has. Because the path of becoming someone greater than becoming a mother is an excruciating journey; so many sacrifice to honour her thus she honours the death, as disturbing as it is because she has accepted that people have fallen for her; how they've fought for her, killed for her, and _died for her._ Countless names she couldn't remember or recognize personally were willing to do everything for her, because that's the inevitable sacrifice one has to make to honour her, to put her into somewhere she belongs and deserves. Death is an old friend, of a child returning to her once again because it's constantly there and it has comforted her, for she had known death is merely a figure of someone that would be there, inevitably comes for you, and embraced you eventually in peace.

Daenerys cherished the death; the fading memories of someone who _had_ truly loved her, among people that have died for her; no one has truly accepted their fate to die for her as he was, as if it was meant to be, as if he had chosen the way he would pass away was to serve her one last time. No one has ever been truthful and peaceful when they're facing the Death, but the serenity and the certainty of emitting his last breath for her has confirmed it; that he wasn't scared to die, but accepts the ineluctable path she has paved long before when she had decided to take whatever what is hers with fire and blood. Daenerys envied him, regardless of her dying in the arms of some she had loved, she didn't feel the serenity and the certainty that reflected upon the lifeless irises and the last breath exhaled, death didn't comfort her as it did to him and she realized the reason it didn't comfort her was because she had never truly loved the man she was supposed to be in love with. Such infuriating love, she had realized it wasn't true love, whilst the man who had died in the arms of her had demised in peace, because he was in the arms of _his true love_ , the one he had loved that had never reciprocated; the one that had denied what lies beneath the callous tips of her fingers smothering the rigid corpse of someone who had been devoted to her, he passed away in peace because he knows, this is how he was supposed to be died, in the arms of an old friend; death welcoming him, as it was his true love.

Slowly, she learnt. Oh how she had always learnt from him as he always have the best counsel regardless of always being absent; she had learnt not to envy him, but to accepting the implausible imagination of being serene and certain regarding her demise, because she had accepted that she had never truly loved the man she thought she loves, however realizing that she found comfort in the man's demise, because he had never blamed her for his own death; death should've been comforting as it has always been and the thought of her accepting that Jorah Mormont had died made her realized that she had _loved him_ ; painfully and regretfully, because she had only realized when the constant reassurance of him would return had evaporated because she knew he would never come back for her, regardless of his oath; his absence had never been truly painful as it was when she was still alive, because she had a glimmer of hope he was alive and would return, the distance they had had given her hope to wish, and the inexplicable aftermath has made her realized that he _was_ her true love.

His eternal absence had made her realized that the connection they both had was a definition of a _true love;_ a love from a knight to the queen, from a man to a woman, from someone who's equal to each other to comprehend such complexity of myriads emotions she wasn't able to compromise. True love; the longevity of turbulence endured, steady in steadfast condition, mended into longing and yearning for each other because they both found comfort in their love, not as intense as infuriated because of the aches within bodies; but the aches within the hearts. Oh, how she was late to realize such a beautiful ache that made her _feel_ something again.. as if her chest was bursting with joy and contentment, as if it does pacify her rage and fear of the eternity. He had always taught her and protected her, hadn't he? Even in the darkest vision of sempiternal wasteland, he had always tried _to calm the dragon._ Such calm magnitude alleviated her excruciating pain, oh, how she had missed him. 

She had learnt that true love was meant to be like _that,_ a person died for you and you only realized it when they had gone. As ridiculous as it is, she just wished she could have tasted that sweet innocence of love she had never truly indulged because she was _afraid;_ for his passion was immense and she would have sunk within. _Gods,_ how a fool he had always been, for his love was apparent to see, and she had seen it but none of them ever confronted it. Banishment and avoidance have always been tenable reasons for her not to compel it, and how a fool he was for he had come terms to it. She had always been vague about her feelings for him, even in front of him and others, and yet she didn’t fathom what _truly_ was. Was it respect? Honour? Affection? 

She wouldn't know by then, she honored him as her closest confidant after Missandei, thus she considered she valued him as a friend. However, she was certain that the vastness of eternal darkness and silence had driven her _crazy_ because an epiphany had struck upon her in the most intangible moment as she floated in wasteland, oh, she had _loved_ him. In her own way, in anyway that cannot be comprehend by mere people who just examining them as trusted friends; cannot be fathomed by anyone but her because all those moments of anger, longing, worry, anxiety, happiness, losing someone who's important in your life and you wouldn't know how to continue; Daenerys realized he made her feel more _human_ and a _woman,_ Jorah Mormont made her _feel_ something more than just being a regal stoic queen, but he made her feel acknowledging that she's more than a queen that was destined to be, but a queen and a woman who's capable of loving someone without expecting anything back.

That what happened to him, he didn't expect anything return after all that devotion and turbulence she had put him through, and he never complained or confronted her when she had treated him unjustly, _oh_ , how he let himself to be lower than supposed to be and make his desire unknown for the sake of her comfort and their friendship. She had never seen someone as selfless as he was, truly a trait a ruler shall have and she just realized it that she had _loved_ him, in her own direction, as bumpy as it was, but there was always redemption along the road. She felt suffocated by the revelation, as if she was drowning from the notion as she drank the fluttering feelings which made her _satisfied._ For everything she has never been accomplished in the earth has been accomplished by her mere acceptance;

The acceptance that she had loved him and he would always protect her, for his presence lingers within her mind and she felt his warm embrace in the darkness. It did soothe her, the deafening silence, because it reminded me of him, the way he would create such ambiance when they didn't talk; just basking upon fleeting appearances and cordial glances. They didn't need words to accumulate their relationship, it was their silence that made them thrive.

Clutching upon her chest, the one that has a gaping hole within her frame, she smiled; as she thought she felt her heart did beat once for him. She floated, as her feelings soar like dragons conquering the ethereal sky. Daenerys Stormborn had conquered her fears, anger and uncertainty regarding the past life; she was born anew.

* * *

Loving someone is about sacrificing themselves to save their loved ones, that's what she learnt from Jorah Mormont, her steadfast companion. Loving someone is to be able to give everything they have and never expect anything in return. A selfless love, a rare love, a honourable love. The one she shall take to her undying perpetual afterlife. For she had make amends with death itself because she had remembered that Jorah Mormont was still keeping her safe within her mind, and knowing that he probably endure the same thing as she does; it gave her somehow a security and tranquility because she had never been so alone in this life, or whatever they may call it regarding the peculiar vastness commenced within her flabbergasted eyes, a sign of another life.

The one she had forgotten what it looked like; to experience such richness of colour bursting into her eyes in instant as she slowly opened her eyes, _or she didn't close her eyes, the image just entered her senses_ and the image was a lively, solitude vastness; an implausible scenery of serenity she had longed since she was a mere child; the one that she thought had never existed in the first place. 

Such a peaceful paradise presented within her orbs as she blinked a few times, trying to adjust her eyesight to the peculiar place that feels like a place where she could feel belonged. 

  
  


The sun, the one she had missed most of all after in the perennial darkness was slowly greeting her behind the mountains, slowly peeking through upon the amethyst sky that had darkened by the time had somehow existed in this place; evening shall approaching and yet Daenerys Stormborn was standing motionless; registering what she has seen and she has breathed; a fresh air inhaled by her lungs and she could say that it smells like a reality. A reality where she does still exists within the wasteland. As if she was expecting such an outcome of her desolate aftermath, she wasn't perplexed or disoriented by everything that was registered into her senses; she felt contentment and comfort by everything that was supposed to be foreign to her after such longevity and fluid time that didn't exist in the other place. 

Daenerys felt at ease by the continuance of her supposedly death; that there was another life for her that somehow has just begun with no mission, fate or conquest, just her and the home with big red door with flowers on the terrace; the long lost childhood memory that has welcomed her with its steady presence when she longs for it, she remembers that death is an old friend and she thinks her childhood memory is death. 

For once she felt belonged somewhere, to a place she felt as if it was a consolation after turbulence of searching its red door, only to find it in the afterlife, in the wasteland. 

It had been a long journey to find home; running away from the inevitable confrontations of death lurking behind her, been sold like a broodmare to a stallion that wasn't worthy of her, chained by those who wanted to own her; and been betrayed by people who she had cared for. And yet, here she stands, after all those years, because she believes in herself that she would find the house with a red door. 

And she did it.

Thus she would call it home.

Palms caressing the texture of the vivid door that had only existed in her memory, pushing through the boundary and the sense of peaceful welcoming her. Suddenly she felt fatigue, exhausted by everything that seemed to be impossible for her to reach. Her body was gravitating to the mattress that was proudly standing in front of her and she was jumping into it; her weary body relaxed upon the feathery mattress and she felt sleepy. She closed his eyes, once more and there’s tranquility within his mind. At last.

* * *

  
  


Dreams seem to exist within this paradise, regardless of being an image within Daenerys’s mind because such a place like this existed and yet in this place, there's a delusion when she sleeps content upon the mattress with fabric covering her body delicately before she settles into slumber. Her dream wasn’t about her demise; her last memory of her supposedly _true love,_ the anguish that prolonged the eventual place she belonged, or her bitter resentment towards herself for being such a fool to fall.

No.

Her dream was about someone’s fingertips caressing her facade from her temple to cheeks; drawing shapeless pattern upon her alluring visage to lure her to deeper sleep as another person is taking a sharp inhale that shall exhales her name and his undying love as he watches her sleeping form upon the mattress that belonged to him. Eyes were wide open, but it was comfort laced within those pierced lifeless irises; mouth was agape but there was no blood trail emitted from his lips; body constructed in some sad way she already knew that he only experienced being alive when she was near. 

That was her dream, or she thought to be.

Before the dream was the reality; she felt someone’s fingertips caressing her facade above the fabric that covered her body from her temple to cheeks, delicately drawing shapeless pattern with his calloused fingers to lure her into consciousness as he takes a sharp inhale that shall exhales her name in disbelief; as if she was the Goddess of this place, the person who created this world and he was waiting to meet its creator. Those blue eyes pierced through her soul as it peered into her in bafflement as her name was whispered, in low voice as if it was a secret for them to keep regardless only them could only listen to their joined breathing and hands as they’re searching for the warmth of reality they’re having after the everlasting yearning.

“ _Daenerys._ ”

A beat.

She could’ve sworn that she heard a beat.

She could’ve sworn she could feel the heart that was beating for her in another life had beaten again after she exists yet again in this wasteland. Putting her hand on his chest, feeling the richness and thrill of experiencing the other person coming back alive because of her.

Just like she did when she had realized that she had loved him, in that godforsaken place as she put her hand on her chest and accepted that she had loved **_Jorah Mormont_ **and her heart was beating again.

And he was accepting that she was alive again, and his heart was beating again for her. As it always has been, for she makes him feel so alive and human.

And he makes her feel so alive and loved and _worshiped_ like a Goddess.

However she is not a Goddess in this place, she was a mere exile once again, and so does he. 

They started from the beginning once again, two exiles in wasteland, having each other with no purpose lay underneath them to pave. 

But their feelings have changed; it had bloomed together after a lifetime they had shared before.

“ _Jorah,”_

That was the first utterance she had ever heard emitted from her lips after blood clogging her mouth when she died; the first word she ever whispered as a promise to keep together.

Two names, one promise, one lifetime together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been hard on me for these couple of months. At the moment of my own solitude, I decided to write this again as a comfort because I've always find comfort in them. I hope you do like it these jumbled words! I'll return with a new story or another chapter of this. Ratings might be upped later on!


End file.
